now i know why i was drawn to you (we share the same darkness inside)
by ShippingLehane
Summary: "You think something's bothering me?" Dr. Grant's lips twitch again. Kara thinks that she probably has a sinfully beautiful smile. Or a beautifully sinful one. She's getting closer to learning that. The corners of her mouth point just a tad higher than before. "Darling," she begins, taking a small sip. "If there was nothing bothering you, I wouldn't be here at all."/AU, AH
1. Chapter 1

It was raining the day she first met Dr. Grant. The sound of water drops against the window kept her grounded, reminding her where she was. She's real. Dr. Grant is very much real, too. Dr. Grant is sharp and curious, but her sharpness is nothing like Alex Danvers' solid, stoic intelligence, and her curiosity does not possess the vibrant energy of Jeremiah Danvers, either. And she, Kara Danvers, finds that unsettling and fascinating, how different one trait can be when embodied in another person.

Dr. Cat Grant probably finds her unsettling and fascinating, too, but for whole other reasons.

"Kara," she hears, and she turns her face away from the window. It started to pour outside, and it comforts Kara to know that she is inside, safe and sound, when there is a storm mere meters away from her. But there is also something distressing in the way water slides down the glass and pools on the ground. Kara blinks, and the water is red.

She blinks again. The image is gone. She concentrates on the sound of gentle pattering and takes a deep breath, trying to find her center. It never really works, at least she doesn't think; but it helped her further ingrain herself into reality. Perhaps, this is what 'finding her center' was about.

"Yes, Dr. Grant," she finally replies. Dr. Grant doesn't start scribbling in her notepad. She doesn't even have a notepad, or a pen; she simply continues to study Kara, without it feeling like being studied. It must be some sort of superpower, Kara thought, or at the very least an impressive skill Dr. Grant must have mastered over the years.

"What did you dream of last night?" She blinks, slowly, her hand automatically reaching up to straighten her glasses. The woman in a chair opposite of her caught her off guard. This wasn't how they usually went, those sessions. Then again, it wasn't usually Cat Grant who she had those sessions with.

Being forced to change a psychiatrist certainly had its disadvantages.

"What does it matter?" She quietly asks instead of answering, after carefully pondering the question.

"Dreams are a window into our unconscious." It was a quote, no doubt, but Kara has trouble identifying it. "And our unconscious could tell a lot more about us than we could ever think of."

"I don't think I want to know much about myself."

Dr. Grant raises her eyebrows, only once, and only slightly. She's so in control, so put together. Kara can't imagine a human being so perfect all the time, so her mind comes up with different scenarios of Cat Grant flustered and awkward, the way she feels sometimes. Most of the time. Here's Cat Grant slipping on ice, arms flailing and mouth comically open in a squeal – and it has to be a squeal, not a scream or a shout or a curse, because there is nothing Kara could imagine that would be as uncharacteristic as that particular sound. And Cat Grant misplacing her keys in the morning, and cursing and muttering and losing the effortless elegance of her gestures and movements. Cat Grant with a bad hair day. Now, that would be a sight to see. But she couldn't just wake up with her hair all done, could she? In the morning, Cat Grant probably woke up groggy and bed-haired and bad-breathed just like everyone else, and she stretched before standing up, and her joints felt sore and asleep.

Kara tries to imagine what Dr. Grant looks like while asleep, but that's too uncomfortable for her. She returns back to the moment, where the woman looks at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't..." She trails off. The doctor is well aware of what just happened. It's written in her file, printed somewhere on a nice paper in a nice folder, the one you see in movies, all yellow and important-looking. There is probably her photo, too; a young woman in her early thirties, looking into a camera with a confused look on her face, her glasses slightly crooked on her nose. Kara never turned out very good in photos. Alex said she looked like she couldn't understand why someone was taking a picture of her. She meant it as a joke, probably, but Kara never did understand humor very much, not when it was directed at her. But she didn't get mad, either. She never got mad at her big sister.

Dr. Grant nods. Dr. Grant doesn't start to scribble down notes in her non-existent pad with a non-existent pen. If anything, the corners of her lips twitch, pointing upwards. Kara isn't sure, but it looks like her doctor is about to smile. But the corners stay put.

"I daydream, too. I actually tend to zone out a lot, when I'm not with a patient. It just so happens that most of my companions are dreadfully boring. Unsurprising, really, since most of them are a walking personification of white male privilege."

Kara can relate to that, on some level, but she doesn't want to think about it. Not yet. So instead she analyzes Dr. Grant's response. It was the first time she used a psychiatrist trope with Kara, and such an overused one, too. Trying to humanize herself, the doctor. To get Kara to see that she is someone she can trust. As if this lie could ever get her to open up. This woman, this immaculate woman in her tasteful outfit and her degree and her sharp gaze would never be able to get down on Kara's level.

She keeps silent, forcing her doctor to continue. Or so she thought. Dr. Grant is silent, too, waiting for something, anything. Kara breaks first.

"I, uh… I wasn't daydreaming, Dr. Grant. I mean, I was, but it wasn't… Like that."

"May I call what you're referring to _an episode?_ " Dr. Grant asks calmly.

Kara shrugs.

"I guess. It hasn't happened for a while, you know. But… Thing is, I completely lose sense of reality. It's like I'm not real. Or, I am real, but not as an identity I'm used to." She stops, shaking her head. Dr. Grant is listening with rapt attention now. Kara can't remember when the last time she blinked was. "I don't know why I'm even telling you this. You have it all from my previous doctor."

"Yes. And what happened to your doctor?"

"You know as well as I do what happened to him."

Dr. Grant tilts her head to the side. She looks like a cat. Her name is also Cat. Kara tries not to shiver and stomps down on the unsettling feeling in her stomach.

 _I am real,_ she thinks. _Cat Grant is real. Catherine. Catherine Grant is my doctor._

"Still, would you mind filling me in?" It's standard, really. The doctor is accessing just how much of a grip Kara has on reality right now. But that's not how things work for her.

She's perfectly aware of the things that happened to people around her. She's simply not so sure about the experiences she had herself. Because sometimes, she's not sure who she really is.

And if she _is,_ at all.

She tells that to Dr. Grant, along with a monotone description of her previous doctor's untimely demise. He got drunk, He snapped. He slit his wrists. The woman nods. She looks satisfied with her answer, and Kara mentally sighs with relief.

"Wrists are very messy," the doctor suddenly states. "Gruesome. I imagine it's a scary way to die."

Kara wouldn't know, at least she doesn't think she would. But she nods, anyway. Her choice would probably be pills. Wrists were messy, indeed.

The rain dribbled down the window, distorting the picture of the outside world. It didn't look like it was stopping anytime soon.

"It's getting late," she states in reply. "And it's still raining. I'll call you a cab."

Dr. Grant thanks her and accepts her tea offering. They go to the kitchen, and Kara places a kettle on a stove, both of them looking at the blurred world as they wait for it to whistle. Kara likes this, the silence they are in. It doesn't feel heavy, like it did with Dr. Scott. If Kara had a good understanding of emotions, she would probably have realized sooner that her psychiatrist was in a desperate need of a therapist of his own. But she didn't even know what she was feeling half of the time. How was she supposed to know about his poor soul?

Kara wondered if that's what guilt felt like.

"How do you feel?" It's like Dr. Grant was already in her head after one session. "I mean, our first meeting – how did it go for you?"

"Are you asking for feedback?"

"Well, if I don't know what's bothering you, I can't improve it, now can I?"

Kara gives a brief pause, taking the kettle and pouring hot water in their mugs.

"You think something's bothering me?"

Dr. Grant's lips twitch again. Kara thinks that she probably has a sinfully beautiful smile. Or a beautifully sinful one. She's getting closer to learning that. The corners of her mouth point just a tad higher than before.

"Darling," she begins, taking a small sip. "If there was nothing bothering you, I wouldn't be here at all."

Kara has to agree with that. She also has to laugh, surprised at Dr. Grant's use of dry wit around her. This doctor wasn't going to be cautious, it seemed. She was determined to… This is where Kara had trouble deciphering the woman's intentions. She meant well; she had to, it was her job and sacred duty. But something was there, too, well-hidden in the shadows of her mind, invisible to Kara's eyes. She was curious. She was fascinated, even. Her case wasn't unique by a long shot, but something still drew Dr. Grant to it. Lucy. Lucy Lane asked Dr. Grant to take over after Dr. Scott passed. She was very adamant about it, too. Her speech was filled with ' _best doctor in the country'_ and ' _numerous publications'_ and ' _knows the specifics'_. Kara knew what it really was about.

Lucy wants Kara Danvers, ex-homicide detective and currently an FBI academy lecturer, back in the game, and Kara is having none of it. She thought that after she had started her therapy, she'd be left alone. It wasn't safe to randomly black out in field work. But Lucy always had a knack for finding her way around things. And when she wanted something, she went for it. She wants Kara.

Kara wants to be as normal as the circumstances would allow her, and FBI field work is not the way to do so. And Dr. Grant wants something, too. Everyone wants something, but somehow, Kara doubts that the good doctor wants a Nobel Prize for publishing a paper about her case.

She can't really place her finger on it, but she can't shake the feeling that Dr. Cat Grant is a catalyst for something big.

The woman drinks the remaining tea, and Kara sees her to the door. She stands on the porch, watching as the doctor takes careful, precise steps to the cab. There is no frustrated hurry in her body. Before getting in, she pauses, turning back to look at Kara. The rain is pouring down on her figure, concealing little details, leaving only a wet, blurred silhouette under an umbrella. A figure in the rain, and the woods behind it, and the dark grey sky above it. For a second, Kara imagines their eyes lock, and Cat's eyes are suddenly mischievous and there is a twinkle in them.

Dr. Grant gets in the car, and it drives her away.

Kara shivers and hurries to get inside, closing the door with a click.


	2. Chapter 2

Kara dreams of the road.

She's standing in the woods, hidden from drivers' view, the road in plain sight. It takes her a while, but she manages to identify she doesn't feel astonished; in fact, it's the most calm she's been in weeks. That's how she knows it's not real.

In dreams, time is obscure. Something you can't measure, no matter how you try, because it flows in every direction, twists and turns, and you'd sooner go mad than try to explain the time spent in a dream after you wake. Kara knows that all too well. Sometimes, time behaves that way in real life, too. Now, time decided to jump, and Kara finds herself standing in the middle of the road, far away from her previous spot in the forest. She looks down on herself and discovers she's still in her sleepwear, a long-sleeved white shirt and pajama pants – it gets cold at night during winter and her heating leaves a lot to be desired. No shoes, of course – the dream thrust her outside barefoot. Kara looks up and watches small puffs of her frozen breath disappear into the night air. Somewhere east is her family's lake house, small and defenseless in the darkness, surrounded by trees that now shield it from her gaze. She knows that if she were to walk there, she would find it empty, with covers thrown over the furniture. When Jeremiah Danvers, her foster father, passed away, his wife couldn't bear to come to this house anymore. Too many happy memories, she said. It hurts to think of them knowing they will never make new ones. Alex visibly didn't agree with her mother's decision, but she said nothing. Her sister never knew how to stand up to her mom. Kara simply went with it. She didn't really have much memories connected with that place, anyway.

Now, she suddenly has the urge to go there. Maybe she will see her younger self running around the yard with a younger version of Alex, and Eliza, their mother, will appear in her apron, wiping her hands and calling them for lunch. Her memories did that sometimes – wove themselves into her dreams, leaving her confused and disoriented in the morning, and she had to go through several techniques Dr. Scott has shown her before she was ready to get out of bed. She hates when it happened, but now it seems worth it. Seeing her childhood, untainted by the things that have happened since, even a bleak, faded memory of it, distorted by the dream, was something she suddenly longed for.

She blinks, and she's in front of the house, and there are no lights inside. Only the porch is illuminated, and an empty rocking chair is creaking, back and forth, as if someone has just stood from it in a particularly strong push. No matter how hard Kara tries to imagine her family, the house remains eerily quiet. She turns the doorknob and walks in, and the house isn't the one she expected. It doesn't look like the lake house she visited as a kid, and it doesn't look like any house she's been to ever since. Could it be, then, that it's a place she's seen _before?_

"It's a normal reaction of your brain, Kara, to forget traumatizing experiences," Dr. Scott used to say. "You don't remember much of the time before Danvers' family took you in, because there was something that caused you pain. I would advise you not to think about it too much. There's probably a good reason your mind protects itself from the past."

"What if the past wants to be remembered?" Kara replies, and it's only after she says the words out loud that she realizes she's replying to a memory from long ago. Dr. Scott is dead, and so are her biological parents, and her foster father, and _this_ house she's standing in, her mom's house, is gone, too, and the memory of it, just like her parents and her doctor and Jeremiah Danvers, has been dead and buried.

"Then you let it be remembered," someone replies, and the voice startles Kara. She follows it.

Dr. Cat Grant is sitting in an unfamiliar living room, and she's not looking at Kara. She's looking down at a black panther lying at her feet, stroking its' sleek fur. Her blond hair partially shields her face from Kara's eyes, but it's not long enough to cover much of her, and she is still able to see a hint of a smile. The panther, however, watches Kara with a gaze she doesn't want to call predatory, but not naming it that won't make it any less true. Her tail whips slowly, up and down, back and forth, like the animal is waiting for an excuse to pounce, waiting for Kara to make the wrong move so it would be able to tear her throat out and be justified in its action. It looks bored, yet alert – Kara can't describe it any better. The woman's frame, small in general, looks tiny in comparison with her lethal companion. She's wearing her usual tasteful outfit, but she appears softer. The panther starts to purr.

Somehow, Kara is able to see both of them perfectly, without any light. Wasn't the moon just there? The living room window is directly facing it, isn't it – then why isn't the light streaming through the glass?

It's a dream, Kara thinks. A dream doesn't have to make much sense. That's the job saved for waking hours, for conscious.

And still, the question remains. Why is Cat Grant here, in the house of her biological mother, in the living room Kara doesn't even remember?

She takes several careful steps into the room. There is something uncomfortable pooling in her stomach. She thinks she's nervous. Or scared. Or surprised. She's definitely surprised. The room welcomes her with chilly air and darkness, and there is not much she can make out, mostly silhouettes. Except the woman and the animal. She sees them as clear as day. Dr. Grant is situated in a cozy-looking chair - chairs like that always pop into your head when you think of a winter cabin in the woods and a fireplace and a casserole in the oven. She's barefoot, too, Kara notices, and her feet are small, just like the rest of her. What Cat Grant lacked in size, she certainly made up for in presence.

"Will you do it?" Cat speaks quietly, and the panther growls. Realization startles Kara: the low roar isn't anger. It's impatience. The panther is waiting for her answer as much as Cat is.

"Do what?" She asks in reply.

"Let your past in. Let it wash over you. Take everything away and leave a clear purpose. A real you."

"I am real," Kara says, and she's numb. Something in Cat's words itches at her brain, but she can't figure out what. It's frustrating.

Dr. Grant is standing right in front of her now, the panther behind the doctor whipping her tail from side to side, agitated. The animal grows in size, casting shadows that come alive, too. Cat is in the epicenter, with shadows clubbing around her like a thick smoke, the panther's tail a continuation of her body. Cat is flicking her tail.

The doctor stares at her, looking for something in her eyes, and lets out a disappointed sigh.

"Oh. It's you."

The panther pounces, and Kara wakes up.

* * *

"Oh hey, Kara!" James Olsen, bloodstain pattern specialist, jogs up to her in one of many hallways of FBI academy building. "How was your weekend?"

Kara smiles. She likes James, or Jimmy, as he insists she call him. Jimmy is nice and wholesome, and he's generous with his smiles and reassuring words. He's also very large, at least he seems that way to her. His wife, a schoolteacher here at Quantico, looks so tiny next to him. They suit each other very well, she thinks: his dark tone of skin is a stark contrast against her pale one, and height difference only adds charm to the lovely couple. Kara's seen Mrs. Sarah Olsen several times when their unit attended Jimmy's barbeque extravaganza. She's as tiny as Dr. Grant.

She frowns and shoves the memory of her confusing dream to the back of her mind, focusing on her co-worker. Friend. He said they were friends, and he stated that so effortlessly Kara was inclined to believe him.

"It was fine." She thinks for a second. Friends are supposed to share more than that, she decides, and continues. "I drew some stuff."

"Really? That's awesome!" James looks happy for her. It's authentic, just like everything else he does. "Sarah is still gushing about your gift, you know. She hung your drawing in our living room. You didn't hear it from me, but she's secretly hoping you'll draw something for the nursery."

They pass several students, nodding to them, before they reach the briefing room. James holds the door for her as he keeps talking excitedly.

"…and I told her: baby, you're not pregnant yet, we're preparing, so we can't decide on the room color right this second!"

"You slept on the couch?" Kara laughs.

"I absolutely slept on the couch," Jimmy confirms, laughing with her. "Sometimes she drives me crazy, and that's when I realize how madly in love I am. And now the love of my life is about to be the mother of my child."

"I thought you guys were going through medical check-ups and vitamins and stuff, and it's gonna be a year before you even start trying?" She asks, confused.

"I know! The woman gave me a baby fever, now I'm just as impatient as her!"

Kara laughs at that, again, and Jimmy joins in. It's nice. It's normal. Jimmy is an essential piece of her pretense that everything is normal.

"Hello, squad." Lucy Lane appears at the door, giving both of them a quick smile as she walks into the room.

"Special Agent in Charge," Jimmy salutes mockingly, but not unkindly. "I thought we were a unit, not a squad."

Behavioral analysis unit, Kara states in her mind. There are three people missing from their weekly status update: Winn Scott, B.A.U., forensic scientist; Hank Henshaw, FBI, special agent; Alex Danvers; FBI, special agent. It always gave Kara chills to call her sister that. The name sounded important and intimidating. She could've been called that, too, in a two or three years, if she hadn't requested to be put on B.A.U. instead. Plus, she seriously doubted she'd pass the screening, anyway. FBI required their agents to be stable. Now, she's Kara Danvers, B.A.U. investigator and FBI academy lecturer. But, judging by Lucy Lane's glance, something was about to change.

"Correct, Jimmy," their superior nods. "I have news for you. The status update will have to wait. We have a case, and it's a big one."

"National security?" Jimmy asks quickly.

Lucy pauses before answering him, to throw another glance at Kara.

"High profile murder. This is the third victim, so…"

"…So the case is taken from local police to FBI," Kara speaks, quietly. "Because there's a body count, and we suspect it's a serial killer."

"Yes." Lucy nods. "We do suspect so. But, with you on-site, we won't have to suspect. We'll _know._ James, Winn is preparing the lab for the body, you should join him."

Jimmy is worried, but he can't exactly disobey what sounded like an order, so he nods and mutters an 'okay' and leaves. But not before giving Kara's shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze. It feels… nice, she thinks.

Lucy exhales, and Kara recognizes her anxiety, along with impatience.

"How was your session with Dr. Grant?"

She swallows. The woman's name stirs something inside her she can't quite identify.

"She's a good doctor."

Lucy nods at that.

"One of the very best. But how was the session?"

"Good. But I can't answer whether I'm ready for the field after only one session with her. She's great, but she's not that great." Kara decides to cut to the chase. The whole cat and mouth Lucy's playing is making her dizzy. She doesn't like to discuss her therapy with anyone, let alone her Special Agent in Charge. So she changes the subject. "But I guess it's non-negotiable, is it?"

"Look," Lucy goes with straightforward, too, it seems. "Kara, you're good with forensic science. You're an excellent profiler. But there is much more you can do in the field. I'm not giving you a badge and a gun yet. Just moving you to on-site consultation. Baby steps, okay? With your mind, with your abilities, you'll solve a case much faster if you're out there. Think how much more you can do for justice."

Kara gives a rueful smile at that. Lucy always does that. For the greater good, she says. For the society. Truth, justice and the American way.

"Everyone has their own views on justice, Lucy," she says. "Take the Belvoir Ripper."

"The psycho who thought himself God? Now, that's a hyperbole if I ever heard one. The man hid behind some perverse idea of just punishment so he could justify his crimes. You have nothing in common with a deranged murdered, Kara."

Except almost everyone he killed was proven guilty, Kara thinks. And they escaped the law simply by finding a loophole. Or they were never caught.

"I assume I'm needed at a crime scene now?" She asks instead of voicing her thoughts.

"Alex will take you there." Lucy puts her hands in her pockets, assuming a power stance. Kara noticed she did that a lot, but whether it was to intimidate or to prove herself, she wasn't sure just yet. "Baby steps, Danvers. Work your magic out there."

Kara didn't bother with a reply, already walking out of the room.


End file.
